


Streetlights, People (The Share the Night Remix)

by Lecavayay



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulbonds, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-16 14:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10572804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lecavayay/pseuds/Lecavayay
Summary: Maybe, just maybe, somewhere between Tampa and Sunrise, Riley’ll grow a pair and break the news to Dylan.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moves like Jagr (pantsoffdanceoff)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantsoffdanceoff/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Streetlights, People](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8988310) by [Moves like Jagr (pantsoffdanceoff)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantsoffdanceoff/pseuds/Moves%20like%20Jagr). 



Riley knows it’s a bond, it can’t be anything else. Not after that first game in October or the way it felt to take faceoff after faceoff against him and know exactly where he was going to move. Definitely not after the night of the blizzard, the night they spent in Riley’s old room pressed up against each other in a bed that really was too small for the both of them.  

Not after Luke called him “a brilliant example of an idiot” that morning and made him promise to fix it.  

He hasn’t fixed it though, he hasn’t even tried. And there’s a fucking psychic in the locker room wandering around trying to find a bond between two people that aren’t him and Dylan.   

He sighs, scrubs his hands over his face, scratches at his stubble. They’re flying to Florida tomorrow night. It’ll be nice to have a pair of warm games before Christmas and maybe, just maybe, somewhere between Tampa and Sunrise, he’ll grow a pair and break the news to Dylan.  

// 

Riley watches Dylan from the safety of the bar, throwing back shots between sips of coke. The club is hot, sticky almost, and he keeps undoing more buttons on his shirt hoping some burst of cool air will hit him.  

“Another round?” the bartender asks.  

He’s distracted when Dylan pools onto the velvet cushion of the booth they commandeered, tipping his head back to expose the whole pale expanse of his neck.  

“Just a, uh, shot. And my tab, please.” 

He tucks his card into his wallet and signs the receipt before tossing back the rum, letting it burn as he walks over to where the team is all making fools of themselves. He falls into the booth, nudging Dylan’s hip.  

“There’s an entire other side of the table,” he whines, enunciating his words well for how much vodka Riley watched him drink. 

He leans into him, really laying his weight on Dylan’s shoulder. “Yeah, but. You’re here.” 

Riley feels Dylan’s flush, the way the alcohol rushes through his blood, the way it heats his cheeks. Something about it makes him brazen. “Hey,” he says, leaning down, so much closer than he’s ever been. “I wanna…wanna try something.” 

He barely thinks about it before he leans in, maybe meets Dylan halfway, and brushes their lips together. He lets Dylan lick into his mouth, taste the rum on his tongue, before Riley pushes him against the booth, hand twisted up in his hair. Dylan gasps, shoves his hands up under Riley’s shirt, pressing at warm, naked skin.   

Someone falls into Riley’s side and he sprawls across Dylan’s lap, barely catching himself.  

“Don’t mind us,” Kronner says with a smile, indicating half the team standing around the table.  

Riley doesn’t know if it’s him blushing now or just Dylan turning red enough for the two of them. He can feel something churn in the pit of his stomach and the back of his neck prickles in embarrassment. “We’re leaving,” he announces.  

Then inclines his head to Dylan. _You want to?_  

Dylan's eyes go wide as he scrambles up out of the booth behind Riley. The team shouts indistinct things their way while they beeline for the door. Riley nearly trips over his own feet when Dylan grabs his hand, the skin-to-skin contact scorching up his spine.  

It’s hot outside too, sticky with humidity and Riley feels like he can’t breathe.  

“You knew,” Dylan says.  

“Of course I knew.” 

“I…” 

“What do you want to do?” 

Dylan swallows, closes his eyes and sways a little. Riley gets hit with it a moment later: the burning need pooling low in his gut, a flash of pale skin, palms dragging down the ridges of his spine, wet fingers, hot breath on his shoulder.  

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “Dylan, fuck.” 

Dylan licks his lips. “Was that…uh…is that the right a-answer?” 

“If you’re sure.” He has to be sure.  

"I am."  

Riley fumbles his phone out of his pocket and calls an Uber.  

// 

The hotel is quiet when they get back, shuffling through the bright lobby an arm's distance away lest anyone notice them. Riley tries to even his breathing while they wait for the elevator but Dylan's heartbeat is at a near sprint and he can barely think about anything other than the rhythmic thud totally out of sync with his own.  

The elevator arrives and Dylan rushes in, pressing the 12 button. Riley takes the wall farthest from him, not trusting himself to keep it kosher until they get to a room.  

Dylan's flushed and his hair is all over the place, frizzy from the club and the humidity. Riley thinks about digging his fingers into it, tugging on the curls until Dylan bares his throat for him, maybe dropping to his knees for him... 

Dylan gasps, reaching out to steady himself on the handrail.  

Riley's head fills with hands around his wrists, the warm wetness of a tongue on his collarbone, his chest, the point of a nipple, teeth just barely biting into skin... 

 The elevator dings.  

"We should, uh, m-my room," Riley stutters. "I have stuff." 

"Okay."  

Dylan's warm against his back as he slips his key out of his wallet and let's them in, dead-bolting the door and the one separating his and Luke's rooms in quick succession. He rests his palms on the wall, dropping his head between his shoulders to breathe.  

He feels the intention of Dylan's hands before they fall to his shoulders and slip down his back, resting at the dip of his waist. "Need you, c'mon."  

Dylan's fingers blindly work the buttons of Riley's shirt from the bottom up, half of them already undone. His hands are warm when they slide across Riley's chest. He doesn't get anything from Dylan's head, no flash of desire or mental image. "Are you blocking it?" he asks, voice dry.  

“I’ve been practicing, to see if I could. Ever since the Jackets game.” 

Riley squeezes his eyes shut, guilty at how jealous he’d been, how he let it bleed through the bond enough to make Dylan want to _block_ him. “Don’t. Please.” 

“Okay.” He settles his hands on Riley’s hips, brushes his lips on the back of his neck. “I won’t. I promise.” 

He gets a slow trickle of arousal as Dylan slides his undone shirt over his shoulders, lets it pool on the floor. He feels the heat start to burn him up slowly when Dylan’s fingers fumble with his belt and button, a little spike of nerves dancing in his belly. He wants to turn around to see Dylan’s face, wants to match the look in his eyes with what he’s pushing through the bond an-- 

Dylan turns him, crowds him right up against the wall. “Get out of your head,” he says against the cut of Riley’s jaw. “And into mine.” 

He groans, snaps Dylan’s hips to his just to feel something _real_.   

It's fast after that. Clutching and grabbing at cotton and muscle and skin until they pile onto the bed naked, Dylan's fingers tight around Riley's wrists over his head. He watches Dylan duck down, drag his warm mouth against his neck and shoulder, bite gently at his collarbone.  

 _Let me_ , he thinks, and Dylan releases him, catches him when he surges up to take his lips in a kiss and twist his fingers in his messy hair. He opens for Dylan, lets him lick into his mouth and swallow up his needy noises. He arches into his touch, light hands across his chest and down his sides, sharp fingers into the dip of his hips.  

Riley thinks about those fingers wrapped around his dick, about them slick and pressed up inside of him, about the way it'd feel to have Dylan's desire burning in his head while he was being taken apart.  

"You're gonna kill me before we get there," Dylan grits out.  

"Please," he whines. 

Dylan's fingers are warm and dry when they curl around Riley's dick in a slow stroke, root to tip. They gasp in chorus when his thumb drags over the head where it's already messy and Riley thinks he can feel it on the tips of his own fingers.  

He thinks about the lube stashed in his bag, the left-side pocket under his socks and then Dylan's scrambling off the bed, ripping open the zipper. He comes back with the bottle and a condom and a tilt of his head – a question.  

"Y-yeah. C'mon." 

He smirks, leaning back over Riley until they're practically nose-to-nose. "Ask nicely."  

 _Fuck you,_ _p_ _lease._  

Dylan pops the cap.  

Riley plants his feet, spreads them wide enough for Dylan to fit between. There's a blip of an image, a fleeting idea that flashes through the bond then and Riley listens, pulls his knees back to expose himself fully. "L-like that?" 

"Yeah, babe, just like that," he breathes, dragging slick fingers down the back of Riley's thighs.  

The first press of a finger against his hole is like lightning up his spine, sharp and electric and _so much._ He lets Dylan take his time, lets him fit one and then two inside, lets him feel his legs shake the first time he finds that spot that brings his whole body to life.  

Dylan's free hand digs into the meat of Riley's thigh. "I never...I never imagined it would be like t-this." 

"Imagine," he starts, gasping around the press of Dylan's fingers. "Imagine how much b-better it'll be...when you...when you get inside." 

 _Are you ready?_  

Riley shivers. _Yeah_ _,_ _Dyl_ _. I'm ready._  

It's clinical and awkward while Dylan fights with the condom wrapper and fits it to his dick, wipes his fingers off on the hotel sheets, settles right between Riley's knees. It's tight, getting inside, and Riley's nearly overwhelmed by the sensation of it. Like...like getting fucked and fucking all at once, like some endless sensation circling back on each other again and again with each shallow thrust... 

He's never felt anything like it.  

Never wants to feel anything else ever again.  

Dylan comes quickly and unexpectedly, the sensation bleeding through bond more than enough to get Riley there, too. The aftershocks circle through them both until they're nothing more than a messy pile twisted together, catching their breath.  

Riley brushes his fingers through Dylan's hair, drags them down over the sweaty skin of his neck and down the ridges of his spine.  

"I don't want to move," Dylan whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the hinge of Riley's jaw.  "Just stay like this forever."

Riley lets himself picture that, him and Dylan in their own bed in Detroit, wrapped around each other like this night after night. He lets himself imagine waking up together in the house he bought so his dog would have a backyard, lets himself imagine Dylan and all of his things living there too.  

"Is that what you want," Dylan asks, eyebrows raised.

Riley finds Dylan's mouth, kisses him long and slow. _Yeah, I think that's what I want._   

"Oh. Okay we could...we could try that."

The little flutter of nerves makes Riley smile. "No rush. You don't have to move in tomorrow."

"We've got a plane to catch tomorrow," Dylan groans. "What time is it?"

They untangle enough for him to get up and dig his phone out of his discarded pants. Dylan frowns in the blue glow of the screen. "We're gonna be so tired."

Riley tries to mentally shrug.  _Worth it._


End file.
